


Love Song

by Braincoins



Series: Love Song [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Thank you Wazy!, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braincoins/pseuds/Braincoins
Summary: This song took Allura back to junior high… because she’d written it then.





	Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyxan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyxan/gifts).



> This fic was a request from Wazy-Sama, and what she wants, she gets. ^_^ This was her idea, I just wrote it. I mean, I had fun writing it, but still. It's her brilliant idea, not mine.  
> ========

            This song took Allura back, all the way back to junior high school. It reminded her of her inexplicable crush on one of the nerdiest kids in school, Takashi. Her best friend, Romelle, used to tease her about it endlessly, because he was _such_ a nerd: wore thick-rimmed glasses and sci-fi movie T-shirts, played D&D, Magic: the Gathering, and violin. But she’d had to work on a project with him once and he was sweet, kind, and funny. He did his work, helped others with theirs, and aside from occasionally staring at her (and blushing when he was caught at it), wasn’t creepy. And he was cute, in his gangly, hasn’t-grown-into-his-ears-yet way.

            She used to fantasize about him the way he probably fantasized about himself when he played those roleplaying games: as some brave knight saving the damsel in distress. Of course, Allura never thought of _herself_ as the damsel. No, no, she was right alongside him, rescuing the princess so that she and Takashi would be famous throughout the realm as the dashing, valorous heroes they clearly were. And he would turn down the princess’s hand when it was offered in marriage, because he was happy with Allura.

_No fame, no glory, no higher honor  
Than being here beside you_

            And that was why she was sitting here, pulled haphazardly into the first parking space of the first parking lot she could find because when the song came on the radio, she’d nearly driven off the road. This song took her back to junior high… _because she’d written it then._

            She’d damn near filled a notebook with idiotic poetry and fantasies about nerdy Takashi. Not just ones like this, where they were wandering heroes, but also the normal idylls of a lovelorn pre-teen. Written her name over and over again with his surname as hers – “Mrs. Allura Shirogane” – with all the i’s dotted with hearts. Pined in purple prose and bumbling verse, hours spent trying to find a rhyme for his name (which wasn’t easy, and after a few galling slant rhymes – “back at she” stuck in her mind – she’d given up on that).

            And then one day she was at her locker, rifling through her bag for her missing notebook. She’d happened to catch sight of Takashi going to his locker and she stopped to watch him open it up, blink, and pull out… _HER NOTEBOOK_.

            Betrayal and embarrassment had shot through her, she’d screamed herself hoarse at Romelle – who was almost certainly responsible for his getting hold of it – and had spent the last few weeks of school avoiding Takashi and convincing her parents to send her to a charter high school instead of the local public one when she graduated.

            And they had, and she’d moved on, and that had been ages ago. She was a grad student now, going for her PhD in Political Science and International Studies. So how was it she was, simultaneously, an awkward thirteen-year-old with an even more awkward crush?

            “That’s the new hit from The Paladins, ‘Love is an Adventure,’” the DJ said.

            _That’s one of the poems I wrote in junior-fucking-high school_ , she thought. Not exactly – some of the words had been rearranged, some rhymes inserted. But there were entire lines that were _exactly_ what she’d written. Entire verses unchanged.

            Her first thought was, _You owe me royalties_ , because grad school was expensive as hell. But her second – and more enduring – thought was, _HOW THE HELL DID THEY GET A HOLD OF THAT?!_ She didn’t think she could blame Romelle for this one.

            Allura just sat there in her used car in this random parking lot and stared at the radio as if it could give her answers. There was no way something like this was a coincidence. She stared and stared and then her brain restarted and she whipped out her phone to look up The Paladins.

            She found a picture of the band. The lead singer was some emo-looking twink guy. The bassist – another leanly-built guy – was winking at the camera. The drummer was beefy with a huge smile on his face; he looked like he was having a blast. Keyboards… she couldn’t immediately tell if that was a guy or not, but she didn’t recognize them, so whatever. Lead guitar was tall, muscular, mostly black hair except for some white bangs. A scar across his nose and… was that a prosthetic arm? A prosthetic _right_ arm, all chrome and shiny black metal, that he was using to play guitar. She narrowed her eyes at his face, but it was the ears that convinced her. _After all this time, he never quite grew into them all the way._

But she was just imagining that, right? There was no way this guitar-playing beefcake was the same as her nerdy Takashi. She looked up the band on Wikipedia.

            _Blah blah lead singer Keith whatever, blah blah… **THERE**_. She read it and re-read it over and over again.

Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane

            _I can’t believe this is real. This can’t be real. Takashi kept my notebook and joined a band and he’s using my cringey juvenile poetry in actual songs – That People LIKE – and dear GOD but he grew up hot and…_

She had no idea how to feel about this. How was she _supposed_ to feel about something like this? How did something like this even happen in real life?! _This isn’t something they make Hallmark cards for_ , she thought wryly.

            First things first: she had to get home. She had things she was supposed to be working on, and nothing was going to get done if she continued to sit here in the parking lot of the… where even was she? A strip mall at… um… Madison and Edgewood. Okay, okay. She noticed a Chinese place and her stomach rumbled.

            _Okay, I’ll go get some Chinese food, take it home, and think about what to do about this while I eat and hunt down that article I need._

            She didn’t know what to do or how to do it, but at least she had a plan for the next few hours, and that was something.

 

 

Hi, I don’t know if you remember me;  
we went to junior high school  
together?

            She stared at the messenger box, afraid to hit Send. It was such a stupid, simple message. But what else was she supposed to say? _We went to junior high school together and you somehow wound up in possession of my notebook filled with stupid poetry about you and now you’re apparently using it for songs?_

She did backspace and replace the question mark with a period. That part wasn’t in question. And she wanted to sound more confident, less like the little girl this whole thing made her feel like.

            _Hit Send. Hit Send. HIT SEND._

            But she had no idea what to expect. He was in a popular, up-and-coming band – the fact that he still had a public Facebook amazed her – and he had striking good looks and a well-sculpted body. Hell, he’d swapped violin for guitar at some point.

            _He’s probably not the same disarmingly sweet little nerd I knew in junior high._ The Takashi she knew would probably have fallen all over himself – perhaps literally – at a message from her, if his adorable blushes had been any indication. Who knew what “Shiro” would be like?

            But she had to know. If nothing else, she probably _could_ demand royalties for their use of her writing. _Of course, that would require me admitting in open court that I filled a whole notebook with those silly things._

            She thought back to her student loans.

            She hit Send and winced and stared at the messenger box for a long moment, then deliberately closed the app, set her phone aside, and went back to working on her paper. Or she tried to, anyway. Mostly she typed three words, backspaced, tried to write something else, wound up typing those same three words again, hesitated, backspaced again, lather, rinse, repeat. Her brain was too caught up in _What if he doesn’t reply?_ versus _What if he **does**?!_

            She snatched up the phone when she heard the notification ping.

Of course I remember you!  
How have you been, Allura?

            She swallowed hard.

I’m good. In grad school.  
Congratulations on the band!

            She hit Send.

            Not long after, the “…” came up to show he was typing. _Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening._

Thanks. You listen to our songs?

            He’d brought it up. She felt her heart pounding.

I caught one on the radio the  
other day. “Love is an Adventure.”

            The “…” was almost instant.

What did you think?

            _Well now, that’s the question, isn’t it?_ It’d been on her mind for two weeks now. She still wasn’t sure she had a good answer.

I think I’d like to talk with  
you sometime. In person if  
you can.

            She hesitated to hit Send that time. Was it too strident? Did she sound angry? _Should_ she be angry? But she sent it and waited.

            It took longer for the ellipsis to show up, and it came and went a few times. Finally, he replied.

Lunch next Wednesday? If  
you’re still in town.

            Oh, right, he could see where she said she lived on her profile.

I know a good Chinese place.  
I’ll send you the address. Noon?

            _This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, oh my god. Should I bring a lawyer?_

Sounds good. I’m looking  
forward to seeing you again,  
Allura.

            And, for some reason, that made her smile. He at least _sounded_ like the politely-awkward boy of her memory. Or, at least, she could read his messages that way. This was just text.  

I’ll see you then.

 

 

            She got there early, picked out a table near the window, and told the server she was waiting for someone. Water and hot tea were brought out. She just played with the chopsticks nervously as she watched out the window.

            Every car that pulled up, she watched like a hawk. She was evaluating each car for what it said about him, but he didn’t get out of any of those. The car that eventually proved to be his was a black Toyota, old and used but clean and in decent shape. He walked out in sunglasses ( _oh, yes, gotta hide from the paparazzi_ ), a baseball cap ( _that hair would give him away_ ), beat-up blue denim jacket, a _Guardians of the Galaxy_ t-shirt ( _still likes geek movies_ ), black jeans almost painted onto him ( _Lord have mercy_ ), and black tennis shoes.

            When he walked into the restaurant though, the first thing he did was respectfully remove his ballcap and sunglasses. She couldn’t help smiling a little. He was asking something of the woman at the front counter, and when she pointed Allura out to him and he caught sight of her, the smile that lit up his face made her heart skip.

            _Same smile, despite everything else._

            He walked up and she stood. “Sorry, am I late?”

            “No, no, I got here early,” she said. “You’re fine.”

            “You, too,” he replied, sounding a bit dazed.

            She blushed. “I meant you’re on time.”

            “Oh. Uh, sorry.”

            “No, don’t be.”

            They stared at each other. _Do I hug him? We weren’t close and it was so long ago._ She fidgeted and then practically threw herself back into her seat in the booth.

            He sat opposite her, setting his glasses and cap down on the seat next to him. “I don’t… know where to start…”

            She smiled. “Order lunch first.” She nudged a menu towards him.

            “Oh, uh, right.” He opened it to hide his face, but she still caught a glimpse of him blushing. She hid herself behind her own menu and smiled. _He’s the lead guitarist in a popular band, he looks like **that** , and he’s still such an adorable dork._

            The server came back and took their orders – Shiro said he was fine with water and tea to drink – and, after another glass of water appeared for him, they were left to their own devices for the time being.

            “You said you were in grad school?” he asked.

            She smiled. She couldn’t blame him for putting it off a bit. So she indulged him. Mostly she answered questions he asked: grad school, college, family, etc. She asked after his own family (Father, Mother, younger brother, all doing well and very proud of him), and about where he met the other people in the band.

            Their food showed up, and the conversation slowed a bit to accommodate eating. He was happy to talk about the formation of The Paladins, about how passionate they all were about the music.

            “Speaking of the music…” she began.

            “I’m sorry!” He set his chopsticks down and looked down at his plate shamefacedly. “I know I probably shouldn’t have used your poetry for the songs, but…” His ears were turning red.

            “But what?” she prompted, trying (and failing, she thought) to sound annoyed.

            He started to say something she couldn’t hear, but before she could point that out, he cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “I read that notebook over and over again.” She could feel her own blush starting up, but she didn’t interrupt. It was obvious he’d read it, after all. “I was amazed that you liked me _at all_ , let alone that much. And I thought your poetry was wonderful.”

            She snorted. “Oh, please.”

            “I’m just giving my opinion. It’s not deep or provocative, but your imagery was very good, especially in the more fantastic ones. Of course those were my favorites. I loved the idea of being a wandering do-gooder with you by my side.”

            He took a deep breath and raised his head so he could look at her again. “That notebook? That’s what I thought love was for a long, long time. And now, through all the girlfriends and boyfriends I’ve had?” He chuckled dryly. “Maybe it’s not what love and relationships _are_ , but it’s what they _should_ be. What they should feel like. So when I write love songs, I go to your notebook. I don’t even need to look at it most of the time; I’ve read it so many times, I’ve practically memorized it.”

            Her blush was spilling over her cheeks, down the back of her neck. “You… really?”

            He nodded. “I mean, you were my first crush and also the one who got away. We were never that close, but after I got the notebook, you pushed me away and then… disappeared. You’ve always been more fantasy than real to me, and that’s not really an excuse for using your poetry, I know. You _are_ a real person and I probably should have tried to get in touch with you first and you have every right to be pissed…”

            “Takashi!” she interrupted as he started babbling.

            He shut up.

            “I wasn’t sure how to feel when I first heard the song. I nearly drove off the road in surprise, honestly.”

            “Oh! Are you okay?”

            She tsked. “Don’t I look okay?”

            “You look… way beyond okay.” He cleared his throat. “But I meant injuries or…”

            “That’s what I meant, too.”

            “Oh.”

            “And I’m fine. I found somewhere to pull over. The parking lot outside, actually. I’m… flattered and still more than a little embarrassed about it, but I… I don’t know what to do with this information.”

            “Sounds like how I felt when I first got that notebook.”

            “That was Romelle’s fault,” she muttered. “She knew about my crush.”

            “I’m surprised you’d even have a crush on _me_. Especially back then.”

            “Most boys our age were still jerks then. You were sweet and nice and smart and funny.”

            “I would have thought your standards would be higher.”

            “My standards were – and are! – plenty high enough!” she shot back in mock-outrage. “But, you _have_ changed. Physically, anyway.”

            “Contacts and exercise. And, well…” He held up the prosthetic. “A stint in Afghanistan with the Army.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            He shrugged. “I’m used to it. Doesn’t slow me down.”

            “Clearly not.”

            “So… now what?” he wanted to know.

            “Well, I had two things I wanted out of this: to find out about my words being used in your songs and to find out if you were still Takashi.”

            “‘If I’m still Takashi’?” he repeated, brow furrowing. “What’s that mean?”

            “‘Shiro’ is a lead guitarist in a popular band. ‘Shiro’ is handsome and sexy,” he blushed at that, “and might have been one of those full-of-himself assholes. But it turns out you’re still Takashi: that sweet and dorky boy who I filled an entire notebook full of embarrassing poetry for.”

            He smiled. “Thank you, but I’m not sure any of that answers my question?”

            “I’m a poor grad student, and I’m not nice enough to turn down the royalties I feel I’m due.”

            “That’s fair,” he agreed.

            “I’ll take royalties going forward, but as for the ones up to now, I think it’s only fitting you work those off yourself. Say… with dinner? Dancing? Somewhere nice.”

            He blinked. “Are you asking me out?”

            She blushed. “Yes. You didn’t mention a significant other when we were talking about ourselves, so I hope I’m not overstepping?”

            “No! N-no, not at all! I’d like that!” He paused. “I sound too eager, don’t I?”

            “You sound like Takashi,” she said with a wide smile. She reached across the table to lay a hand over his. “I like it.”

            He smiled back.


End file.
